The wayward passions, and how dark soe’er
The mirror there might be, the real form was here.
LVII.
“Waban!” at length he said, “I grieve to see
That all I sowed fell on a barren rock;
How could my brother hope to gladden me
By such a deed? Thou dost thy sachem shock!
O! from thy savage nature try to flee;—
Lay down thy murderous knife and tomahawk,
And dwell on better themes. New toils invite,